Classical Conditioning
by electric gurrl
Summary: It's kind of like a rescue inhaler, except it's grape flavored. — Claire x Owen. O/S.


**Classical Conditioning**

* * *

It's kind of like a rescue inhaler, except it's grape flavored.

Claire has generally avoided candies, sodas and other foods and drinks that were not beneficial to her success. However, when she was a youth, she had an incredible soft spot for grape candies, which she would beg for every time they caught her eye with the shiny violet packaging.

 _"Who likes grape flavor?" her sister asks in disgust as she grabs a Milky Way bar. "One day, archaeologists are going to know that they're at our time period by when they hit the layer of thrown out grape candy under all the dust."_

It was a well kept secret, until today.

"You were the one who insisted that you drive," Owen remarks as Claire complains about being about to fall asleep at the wheel.

"I'm a horrible passenger, and you know it," Claire says, shrugging.

"I do," he replies honestly, because some things never change, and they both like that.

"Convenience store," she says bluntly, not bothering for a second with eloquence.

She pulls into the parking lot and immediately skitters out and strides confidently inside, Owen remembering to lock his truck on his way in with her.

"Candy and..." she says, trying to think of the fastest fix. "And, those energy drinks eventually kill you, don't they?"

Owen holds his up and shakes it. "I've been drinking them for years, and am completely fine."

"Get me one," Claire says quietly, mumbling in the silent store.

She winds up with her favorite grape candies in her hand, after years of not even thinking about it. Owen is smirking as they walk beneath the flickering fluorescent lights and she pays.

"What?"she asks, her eyes flickering up and down his body.

"Those are so gross. I don't even know how they're still in business," Owen drawls, and Claire wordlessly gets into the driver's seat again.

"They are my favorite," Claire openly admits for the first time.

She imagines that he will forget, given how endless this drive has been.

But, somewhat fortunately, he remembers.

[X]

In the vacation home they drove twelve hours to, Claire is trying to conceal her panic attack.

Claire Dearing absolutely hates these moments, the ones she cannot shake off. And even more when it is the dead of the night. She paces rapidly around her new home, trying to remind herself that she _can_ breathe despite the fact that she feels like she cannot.

Murmuring, "I am not in danger," to herself like a lunatic.

"Claire," hisses a voice and she nearly slaps him across the face. He catches her, his hands gently on her waist, and she welcomes the fleeting pleasant sensation. "Sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you. Have these."

Owen pushes a box of her favorite candy into Claire's hand. It is the last thing she is thinking about as he fills her a glass of water and she sinks into a creaky wooden chair in the kitchen.

She thanks him in the morning.

[X]

Two months after her world shattered, Claire is still with Owen.

They are running, but they are running in the same direction.

The worst panic attacks might just be those in public. She is trying desperately to hide it, as he is walking along beside her. Owen reaches into the pocket of his sweatshirt and hands her a purple box, which she, with her pounding heart and shaking hands, does not question, feeling a slight calm from the familiarity.

She does find actual medication in her sleek purse, and they sit down on the park bench, trying to look like normal people.

[X]

It takes seven of her panic attacks before she starts calming down more quickly with the assistance of Owen. If someone told her that she would accept the help of Owen Grady a year ago, she would have been coldly disgusted.

But now, she turns immediately to him when she is feeling one coming on, fumbling in her designer purse for a Ativan, but also expecting her candies.

They do need each other, although neither will admit it. Even if their need is for ribbing comments, heated kissing and grape candy.

[X]

After a few months of dating, and running together towards that seemingly nonexistent sunset, Claire and Owen take a vacation to New York City as a last stop before flying to the south to met his family. He has already become very acquainted with hers, while Claire has only heard snippets about his background.

In the middle of the cool, air conditioned hotel, Claire is peering out of the window at the skyline when she is suddenly struck by the need to vomit and a constriction of her throat. How many helicopters even fit in one sky, anyway?

"Just a minute. Just a minute, I'm unpacking," Owen says loudly, having memorized her body language by now.

"Unpacking for what?" she breathes as she tries to count her breathing and keeping from spiraling out of control.

"Here," Owen says, and, while she should expect actual medical pills and science, he hands her a purple box.

"I'm going to gain a million pounds," Claire sighs as soon as she starts calming down. The truth is, she has lost too much weight since the incident nearly a year ago, but she wants to pretend that they are a normal couple.

They can be, in this gigantic city.

He kisses her in silent response, and then makes a sour face.

"What?" she snaps.

"Grape flavor. Who even likes grape flavor?" Owen chuckles and she glares before smiling, and going in for another kiss whether he likes her purple tinted lips or not.

"Reasonable people like myself."

[X]

The next morning, Claire is sitting on at a table by a pier when the fifth helicopter passes and she feels her heart skip a beat. She stretches out of her hand expectantly at Owen, whom is sipping a frothy beer across from her.

He starts laughing and she glares until the thought crosses her.

"Oh my god," she breathes as the helicopter passes without repeating the event in the hotel last night. "You're _training me_."

" _Trained_ you," he says with a widening smirk. Her red blush pierces through her ivory foundation from her swelling rage, and before he gets pushed into the Hudson River, he quickly adds, "I trained your panic attacks. After I left the Navy, I used to have them at night, and I started putting in the same movie to calm myself down. It worked for me."

"You're _training me_ ," Claire repeats icily, her glacial fire burning with a quiet ferocity. She is not at all satisfied with his response.

He just smiles, his grin warped by his tall glass. "I've been really surprised that you didn't figure it out by now, with your fancy college degrees."

She hesitates and finally leans back with her hands clasped on her lap.

"While I find it deplorable that you would even think that I could be trained like a pet. I will not turn down a method that works," Claire admits, staring at the table and still trying to fathom how she allowed herself to be _trained_ like that. She imagined that she was steps ahead in the relationship. "But, I think I might try out some Pavlov on you for my own ends."

He cocks an eyebrow. "I wouldn't expect any different from you. What of my glaring but sexy flaws will you start with?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't work." Now she is the one smirking.


End file.
